Clutch
by S-Chrome
Summary: So Ron thought coming through against the Lorwardians was a high-pressure situation...


Clutch  
By S-Chrome

All of these characters are not owned by S-Chrome, nor his urban, African-American counterpart. They are owned by Disney... naturally.

* * *

What was a man to do?

Sure, you're a world-renowned hero, they said. You're already a football star, they said. But there was no more greater pressure than to deliver on something that not even you can expect to deliver.

The sun shined flawlessly in the early afternoon, but there stormy weather appearing on the horizon. Big time stormy weather. A crowd waited on pins and needles, eager to the core with anticipation as a young man approached the center of attention, a mishmash of thoughts in his subconscious. How the heck was he supposed to do this? How was he talked into something like this? With all the marbles on the line, Ron Stoppable had to come through in a decisively clutch situation. The blond boy just continued to wonder how the heck he was going to manage coming through in this sitch and come out a hero once more.

Suddenly, the battle between the Lorwardians and himself seemed like a distant memory. And, heck, the fate of the world was on the line, but this-this, was for higher stakes, or so it seems.

A regional championship was at stake here. A trip to the Promised Land was on the line… well, as far as sports platitudes would put it. The Middleton High baseball team was within two runs, and with one out, and for some reason, Ronald Stoppable was right in the middle of it. Mr. Barkin talked him into this fine kettle of fish. He was ranting on about something about a final blaze of glory as a senior and some such nonsense. The sidekick turned worldwide hero never strove for the spotlight, but with his dumb luck, or dumb skill, as he once coined it, the spotlight found him.

Never mind all the preparation, and eligibility him even getting recruited to the school's baseball team. Then again, the Middleton High campus was just a little better than a smoking crater nowadays. Officials would surely understand this unprecedented walk-on and let it slide… he was a world saving superhero now, wasn't he?

But there was one small, teensy-tiny problem. Like most sports he tried his hand at, he wasn't very good at it... and that was being diplomatic. The last time he swung a bat... well, he heard his little league coach is still recovering from post-concussion symptoms and will be ready to resume a normal life in a few months.

That debacle was six years ago.

He then remembered what that big-eared baseball relic who always said something nonsensical and were somehow thought of as words as wisdom once said… half of this game was ninety percent mental. What on Earth did that mean? How could half of something be ninety percent of…? That analogy made his head hurt more than the pressure of coming through here.

Gripping the bat in this hand, he approached the plate. His stomach was quickly overcome with butterflies. If he didn't come through, he was sure his fellow students would understand.

"LET'S GO RON!" Most of the Middleton faithful excitedly cheered.

OK… maybe not.

He took some practice swings before digging in. The opposing pitcher stared in at his catcher with an intimidating glare.

"Batter Up!" The umpire stated.

The blond young man couldn't back out now. He got into his batting stance, ready for whatever the pitcher was going to throw at him.

In about two seconds, Ron found himself leaning away from a ball that seemed to make a beeline for his head.

"Ball 1."

The crowd applauded appreciatively. Meanwhile, Ron was thinking to himself, 'I was almost killed! How could they possibly cheer?'

Hesitantly, he stepped back into the box. The next pitch seemed to come at him but then broke over the plate… or so the umpire thought so.

"Steeeee-rike One!"

He glanced at the ump as if to say, 'are you serious?' Serious or not, it was still 1-1. He had two strikes to become a hero or fall among the ranks of Bill Buckner, Calvin Schiraldi, Tim Wakefield, Carl Crawford, and Jonathan Papelbon… and he wanted no part of that. No sir, not at all.

Ron looked into the catcher mitt… Boo-Yah! He was ready now… well, as ready as he could be…

The next pitch seemed to go right down middle, and Ron swung with all his might, and ended up tumbling into the dirt. His adoring public… well, his somewhat adoring public groaned with dissatisfaction at his rather embarrassment attempt for contact.

Well, he was down to his last strike, and heck, even if he did swing and miss, there would be another hitter up behind him. If in the unlikely situation that he hit the ball over the wall, he'd be even more of a hero than he was before. No one, not even Bonnie, the resident Queen Bee of the smoking crater, er… Middleton High, could call him a loser any longer. He could do this for sure. If he could blast a couple of rampaging, unspeakable alien characters past the stratosphere and into the next nearby galaxy, he could knock a baseball over a fence 350-some odd feet away easy as cake. Man, cake did sound good right about now.

He stepped out of the batter's box, the fire of competition returned to him in an instant… and thoughts about the deliciousness of cake.

He returned to the box. The pitcher stared into the catcher for a signal. He shook his head with indecision at the backstop's suggestion before settling on one that both could agree with. Ron stared at the pitcher intently, hoping he could gain a psychological advantage... well, as good a psychological advantage as a walk-on can get. The pitcher came from the stretch and delivered the pitch.

Would there be celebration in Mudville, er... Middleton?

If not, at least Ron had an opportunity to try new things and at least make the attempt at...

Woah! Was that off the sound of his bat?

Contact!

He made contact!

Before he even knew what to do, he dropped the bat and took off for first base. The crowd cheered noisily. He'd done it! Why, he was going to be a hero after all! There was never any need for him to doubt himself! As he took off for first base he got it in his mind that when the situation was dire, you could count on Ron Stoppable to come through in the clutch without fai...

"YOU'RE OUT!"

Out, what?

If Ron hadn't been basking in the glory of just making contact with the baseball, he would've noticed that the 2nd Basemen fielded the ball he hit, stepped on the second base bag and then fired the ball to the first baseman before he could reach first base.

He grounded into a double play. He grounded into an inning-ending double play. A game-ending double play. A game-ending double play in the Regional Semifinals. Derek Jeter would not be pleased.

The crowd, once vociferous in their support, now stood deathly quiet, disappointment painted on the faces of each and every one of them.

Eh... well, Ron thought as he made his way back to the dugout. 'At least it isn't the end of the world.'

Right?

* * *

The End.

So remember ladies and gentlemen… and baseball enthusiasts everywhere, it's always better to strike out than to ground into a double play.

S-Chrome


End file.
